40 Poems From POMEGRANATE FLESH by Strider Marcus Jones

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THE GREEN MAN

 

i have the green man

growing in his tree

feet to earth

hands in sky

head with heart.

 

prophetic and pagan

his persuasion

is asking me to be

like the mother who gave me birth-

but now,

even how

we go to die

is apart.

 

his eyes

behind his hair

both stare

at Babylonians

becoming Old Bostonians

changing us from Custodians

leaving the DreamTime

to work in line.

 

my door,

is always open

in case he comes back in

running half broken

father mine from the mill dripping

stale sweat

on the hearth floor

but i don't forget

 

him shaping his words and hands

everywhere he sits and stands

so selfless to let me see

how to set my own mind free-

break the blames that blind you

and liberty will find you;

real truth, is not what everyone knows

but in their echoes

unspoken shadows.

 

Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 30th June, 2012. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

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